


Tasting God

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark Will, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7957939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of Will's first kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tasting God

Will’s hands were shaking slightly, fingers splayed against the bottom of the porcelain bowl, pink clouds seeping into the water like ink from his bloodied knuckles. He gazed distantly down at where his hands were submerged, eyelids fluttering; it must’ve been painful. But the pain was only physical, and there was some kind of sexual gratification in the discomfort- his mind whirled, exploded, pulsated with light and memory. He was alive. He was so alive.

Hannibal thought he might burst with pride.

Never before had he been so aware of the man before him, never before had his plans gone so well.

But it was more than that.

His eyes grazed the edge of Will’s strong shoulders, no longer hunched or turned inward in an expression of fragility or frailty- no, now Will stood strong and unafraid, and Hannibal was hungry. Lusting for the violence and the exhilaration that he knew ran through Will’s veins like a shot of heaven compressed onto his bloodstream. No- no, no, _no-_ it wasn’t enough to say that he was hungry for violence, or the artistry of death. He was aching for this being, this man, this elevated and mutated angel. He wasn’t disconnected, content with mere observation- he wanted to envelop himself in this being, wanted the physicality of this perfection. All the artwork, all the musical symphonies and all the pieces of genius Hannibal had ever fallen in love with- it all paled in comparison to this. This moment. Standing here, in his kitchen- the very soul of his house and his life- with the most perfect of killers.

His masterpiece.

He stepped forward, and the thrumming of his heart was music, the movement of his limbs the most bold dance towards the climax, the finale and the beginning. Will’s head turned towards him, soft lips opening, and Hannibal noticed a fleck of blood on his cheek.

“Did you kill him with your hands?”

“Yes.”

“Were he still alive, I am sure he would be proud of you. I am.”

Could God see them now? God, who had given humanity such _violence-_ oh, Hannibal couldn’t breathe for the thought; how God would love them in this moment.

“I liked it.”

It was a whisper, an erotic confession of guilt. Will’s voice was steady, and Hannibal stepped closer- closer, and closer, until he could glimpse those eyes, those clear eyes, pupils blown and irises bright.

“I liked it, and you knew I would. You knew I’d…”

Part of him wished to take Will’s hands in his own, bestow kisses upon the bloodied flesh and taste Will’s elevation, take into his mouth the very _essence_ of the ultimate success.

Instead, he found his hand rising to Will’s shoulder, turning him around- and then Will smiled, the expression of a shark and an archangel, lustful eyes glowing brighter than a thousand suns. Will’s hands, still wet, were damp against Hannibal’s chest then, pressing moisture into fabric- but Hannibal, for once, did not care for material perfection.

When they kissed, Hannibal tasted God.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
